We arrived in our thousands,
laden; waterproofed and prepared
for the squelching, umber trudge.
We stalked, staked claim to the land
and built our temporary shelters;
effective but impossible to find
in the torch-lit, twilight damp. Loosened
by like-minded company, eventide found us
beneath the endless Suffolk skyscape,
throwing shapes as though invisible;
a cagoule-cassocked choir offering
hedonistic hymns in exchange
for a brief respite from the rain.
As we left, small pieces of us clung
to the bosky oasis; twirling bootprints
in the clotted clay, descant notes
perched as dew on forest leaves
and sighs that skittered
on the illuminated lake. Yet,
as the light slipped towards
the end of the earth, I realised
that each of us was leaving
with so much more than we
had packed in our rucksacks.